A Means of Victory
by AnonRecon
Summary: (Sorry... Not Sorry... it was a request and I'm digging it.) RED's opp goes terribly wrong and one of the mercs is shoved into a hell worse than anything they could've ever imagined... because it's real...
1. Chapter 1

**READ THE AUTHOR'S NOTES _PLEASE_**

 _AN~ This may need more explanation than ANY of my previous fanfictions. I was talking with a close friend while playing fallout four and he noted my love of both the Fallout games and TF2 and the fact that I had made one of the Mercs in Fallout 4. He then proceeded to ask me to make a fanfiction combining both worlds. Not sure whether or not me agreeing to do it was a good or bad thing, but, HEY, I'll try it. I won't back down from an honest challenge. Anyway, the way I combine the worlds is stupid as all hell, but it's TF2. That game is neither realistic nor totally serious and I find that, in the context of the TF2 universe, it fits alright. Anyway, I'm sorry for this. I'm not sorry for this. Here you go._

* * *

"A reactor?" Miss Pauling seemed almost annoyed with the idea of BLU looking to a nuclear deterrent for the solution of the Gravel Wars rather than the expected shock or anger. Spy himself thought the idea to be incredibly reckless, but saw no need to worry, either. BLU was anything if not short-sided. He'd been among them enough to know. At that moment, he was acting as a sort of 'body-guard' for Miss Pauling as she attended one of her less secretive meetings. "So this is his idea? Blow RED off the map along with all of Tuefort and a good portion of the surrounding area?" They were standing around a large, oval table, worn and in need of some cleaning. The room itself was also drab and outdated with faded grey walls and old, white carpets so aged that they were more so black than their original color. A woman sat at the other end. She was around Miss Pauling's age and had a similar complexion. She, however, was brown-headed with very dark eyes and longer hair.

"Well, Miss Pauling, to be honest, Tuefort is of no great loss and the area around it is mostly barren. Still, they elimination of RED opposition is not in our interests. The intelligence that your agent managed to grab was very informative to the whereabouts of this reactor, though, and we can send the team in for a direct strike. The sooner it is destroyed, the better we'll be, so I advise you head in as soon as possible."

"But," spy broke in, eyes glazed over with disinterest. "What would there be to stop them from trying to build it again?" The woman nodded and pulled out a sheet of paper with numerous pictures printed across it. She slid it across the table to the pair. Spy glanced over Miss Pauling's shoulder and found that the pictures were of some sort of cylinder with hazard symbols haphazardly painted across its chrome shell.

"That is the power supply. Its a prototype super fuel that scientists in New Zealand were working on before the entire island disappeared. It's not incredibly strong, but it works. Some guy over in Thailand managed to find it and gladly sold it to BLU for a grand total of sixteen-million dollars, though it's worth so much more. As with all relics and fractured technology found from the New Zealanders, there isn't much of it. Taking this small amount from BLU should leave them both broke and unable to power their reactor properly. Any later attempts will be easy to disrupt once this stuff is out of their hands." Spy sighed and irritably followed Miss Pauling out once all the information needed was gathered. Once they were clear of the building and in Spy's car, he gripped the wheel so hard that his knuckles popped under his gloves.

"Tell me again how they had no idea that BLU had this technology until now? I thought that they monitored their every move."

Miss Pauling gave a sigh of her own as they pulled out onto the dusty asphalt outside the town of Tuefort. "They can monitor the mercenaries themselves, but when the CEO makes a move with money from his own pockets, it's void until someone uncovers it. If it wasn't for you and Sniper, this would have never reached us. We still got it early, though. We can stop this. They won't get any further with their 'end-all' solution. As soon as we get to base, we rally everyone up, go over a plan, and move once we're sure we know what we're doing."

* * *

In truth, Miss Pauling wasn't at all exactly sure what they were doing. She knew what they needed to do, but how they needed to do it was void to her. She looked at the plans of the base over and over and still couldn't formulate any sort of coherent battle strategy. It didn't help that Scout was swooning over her as he usually did when given the opportunity. "So, you gonna tell me what'chu doin'?" he asked, sitting down atop the table on which the young woman was toiling over a map and some blueprints. Having no more excuses or dismissals to hand the mercenary, Miss Pauling finally caved slightly.

"We have a very important mission to accomplish and I'm trying to figure out how we're going to do this. I can't if I'm not left time to focus."

Scout entirely ignored the last part and smiled lop-lopsidedly at her. "Hey, you're smart. You'll figure something out." Miss Pauling regarded the remark with silent resentment and allowed herself to drag a warm palm over her cheek. She'd been wringing her hands again. She REALLY needed to stop doing that.

"You've yet to think of a plan, I assume?" Spy commented, entering with another one of his disinterested expressions. He was minus his suit jacket, leaving his upper half in but a red waistcoat. Pauling was almost relieved to see him, but she knew that he wouldn't be much help, either. As of late, Spy had been VERY moody. Today's seemed to be somewhere between totally detached and depressed. What had been causing his strange behavior was unknown and would probably stay that way seeing as he was both a spy and a man. Even the most tender-hearted of the mercs, Engineer, was reluctant to share even the slightest emotional issue. Of course, they were all hired guns and emotional problems were not consequential to their line of work, but sometimes Miss Pauling thought that knowing what was going on with them would help keep them from getting at each other's throats. With such a diverse group of people, there was no telling what would pull one of their cords.

"No," she admitted, pinching her temples.

"What exactly HAVE you accomplished?"

"Well," she began, "I've mapped the exits, entrances, air ducts, loading bays, drainage systems, sleeping quarters, and the room that the device HAS to be in. It's not easy to get to. There are plenty of ways in, but they're very defendable and, if BLU's tactics hold true, they'll set up defenses at each of them in the blind spots. We're talking sentries, guards, and, from the looks of the plans you delivered, heat-detecting radars. You couldn't even get in from there, but besides those entrances, there's no other option. We can't just charge in, but there doesn't seem to be a better option."

"Indeed," Spy confirmed, folding his hands behind his back in a leisurely posture, "And that is what we will need to do, le plus cher superviseur."

"What?"

"We need chaos. We need to be loud and distracting. We keep the strongest of us standing long enough to distract the brunt of their defenses so that I or one of my similar allies could slip through the folie and take care of the machine swiftly. After that, we call retreat and leave our foes stunned and without their reactor." Through the explanation, Spy almost showed a hint of enthusiasm over his grey front as though his plan wasn't at all insane. Still, they had no better ideas. It was worth a try and the longer the BLUs had this technology, the worse the fate seemed for Tuefort and RED.

"Well, if you know what you're doing, call everyone in. Tell them what they need to do." She crossed her arms and leaned against the back wall, watching the man irritably. Spy wrinkled his nose in a split second of amusement.

"Why does it feel as though you resent this?"

"I don't. I'm just tired. I've been fighting myself with this for two days and here you are just spitting all that out like it was nothing."

"You try to over complicate things. Being quiet and covert would be best, but if the possibility of such a strike is nearly impossible, then we must move to the next best option. Now, I do believe we have an attack to coordinate and I would appreciate it if you helped gather the rest of us. I have some small things to gather before hand. I will meet you back here in a few moment's time. À la vôtre." And the Frenchman was gone again with a dismissal flick of his hand. Miss Pauling was still slightly disheartened, but sighed and looked at Scout.

"Go get the others, will you?"

"Sure thing, Miss Pauling." And, with that, he jogged off down one of the base's monotonous corridors and left Miss Pauling alone with her thoughts for the first time in a while. She relished this time and used it to beat herself up mentally for a good twenty minutes. If she couldn't do her job better than any of the mercs could, then there was something wrong. Granted, Spy was smarter than the average mercenary, but it was HER job to think of the battle plans and direct the team and the fact that she had failed to do that was more than enough to merit mental scolding. After some moments, she stopped and nodded at the group of mercs as the entered the small briefing room. Spy was among them, this time in his jacket and Miss Pauling suspected that that was all he had to get. He walked around the table and stood next to her, hands behind his back and expression, again, disinterested.

"Alright, now that we're all here, I can fill you in on the situation. Recently, Spy retrieved some intel on a nuclear reactor being built by the BLUs. They plan on using this reactor strictly for a meltdown scenario as a means of destroying you and bathing REDs land in radiation. The intel also uncovered a map of the base and the location of the reactor. From what I've managed to observe, there is no way to covertly sabotage their tech. We're going to have to go in hard and loud." She looked to Spy expectantly. The Frenchman picked up on the signal and cleared his throat.

"There are three entrances to the chamber and each is bound to be expertly guarded. There are blind spots in each corridor and platforms prime for sentries and soldiers. As Miss Pauling has told me, they also have a heat sensor, so my cloaking will provide little aid. Disguising is also fruitless as I am not able to safely destroy the device on my own. A team would be required including Engineer and Medic. There will be three teams of two, each pair entering from one of the corridors." He pointed to each of the jagged lines on the map. "Team one will enter from corridor A and consist of Heavy and Scout. Team two will enter from corridor C and consist of Demoman and Soldier. Team three will enter from the middle and consist of Pyro and Sniper. As a note for Pyro, please remain in front." From the back of the group, Sniper gave a dissatisfied snort, but remained silent in terms of protest. "Once you are all inside and causing chaos, Medic, Engineer, and I will tend to the reactor and make sure to deactivate it. After that, we take their elemental power source and you all can safely burn the base to the ground. Do we all understand?"

Pyro chirped happily behind their mask and clapped their hands eagerly. The very mention of fire was enough to send the being into a giddy rile. A few of their fellow team-mates shifty uneasily and others rolled their eyes. "I will take that as a yes."

"We mobilize immediately," Miss Pauling added. "Let's go, guys."

* * *

This BLU base was one of the smaller ones dotted across the Tuefort landscape. There had certainly been smaller and more congested establishments, but that didn't make this operation any less difficult. As a matter of fact, this might have been the most difficult operation to date. Discouragement was void to many of them, though. They all seemed in a very normal mind as though it were just a regular mission like any other. They had all loaded into as few vehicles as possible and, by Miss Pauling's request, Spy was put with his filthier counter-part in his camper. He was no stranger to the arrangement. Still, he didn't like it. The van was full of odd smells like cheap cigarettes of a foreign brand and the bushman had an odd taste in music that showed whenever he tired of the constricting silence around them and flipped through his small music selection. Along with Johnny O'Keefe, The Offbeats, and Judy Stone, the bushman had a considerable number of tapes of Johnny Cash and Frank Sinatra, both seeming more of Engineer's tastes, but Sniper wasn't very far off. It was times like that when Spy would mentally scold himself for not grabbing some of his own music to play. Today was one of the silent days, however, and they opted for it rather than music. The Bushman had said something in passing about not getting any new music and being sick of his usual sets

As a result, both of the assassins road wordlessly, the muffled sound of the dirt-road under tire being the only disturbance to this tranquility. Admittedly, Sniper wasn't all that bad. The man was a bit of a recluse, quiet and out of the way when not on the field. He kept to himself mostly and never honestly intended to rile anyone up unless they started it. Spy's distaste for him came mostly from the man's habits and general personality when he WASN'T being horribly introverted. He didn't want to say it was partially due to the Australian's life-style due to how shallow that might have seemed, but parts of it really did bother the Frenchman. Sniper was gritty, filthy, awkward, and even sometimes unintentionally silly, not to mention that most of his morals looked better on paper than in practice. Spy often wondered how well he stuck to them. Still, the man wasn't vein, loud, OVERLY smelly, or totally intolerable. In fact, he was one of his few team mates that he COULD sit quietly with without someone making a snide comment and causing a negative environment.

Even so, Sniper sometimes just rubbed him the wrong way and when he did, things escalated quickly. Usually with shouting, spitting insults, and even a fist or two. They were short lived moments, but intense ones. Why they, of all the mercenaries employed by RED, got on each others nerves the most was something Spy still contemplated and even wondered if the other thought as well. Maybe, if circumstances were different, they could have at least been distant friends, but meeting the man as he had removed all hope of that. Again, Spy didn't hate the man, he just didn't like him. He couldn't count the number of times that a situation such as that had stopped him from finding enjoyment in life. There were so many people that he wished he'd gotten to know, or been able to start over with. He made so many mistakes and cringed at the memory of them.

He would have stayed roaming his thoughts for longer, but he felt it as the van began to slow. The tiny fortress lay just beyond a wall on the horizon and Spy could see it through the windshield. With a grunt, his companion grabbed his rifle from its place behind the seats and stepped out of the vehicle, scoping in from the ledge on which they waited for the rest of their team. His face was concentrated and stern like a statue... One of the more interesting things about him... After some few more moments, the Frenchman stepped from the vehicle and took a long drag of his cigarette. The sun was just reaching the horizon in its final moments upon that day. Tuefort may have been a horrible, arid wasteland, but there was nothing like a red-sand sunset. It looked as though the hills were on fire.

Quietly, Spy approached his co-worker and sighed into his smoke. "What do you think of all this?" he asked after some more moments of silence. The thickness of the air was about to kill him. Someone needed to say something and it might as well have been him. Sniper grunted and lowered the scope, letting the rifle sag in his right hand as the stock lightly touched the ground. He picked up his tinted aviators and moved them atop his hat. With a lick of his lips, he finally found his words.

"I'unno. Somethin' don' seem right. Gotta sick feelin' in me gut. Anythin' 'bout this seem off to'ya?"

"Vaguely. There is no telling. I wish we could all be so sure about something like this, but fate is something we simply cannot control. What exactly is within those walls has yet to be seen. Maybe we were wrong. Maybe it is a trap. Maybe we were right. All we can do is try to make it better with what effort we can muster."

"What if they be playin' us?"

"And what if they are not? We cannot afford the chance, tireur d'élite."

"I know. That's what scares me. We could die or we could lose everythin'. They ain't never done nothin' like this before. What the bloody hell could'a made them jump like this? I mean, spillin' gallons of blood over merc business is one thing, but irradiating an entire region... Crikey, that's horrid... e'en for them." Spy nodded and chewed his lip out of habit.

"Oui... but... What was that saying? Quand je marche dans l'ombre de la vallée de la mort, je ne crains aucun mal?"

"Uhh... Yeh, sure, mate."

"Hmm... You are being dismissal again, bushman. You didn't even ask what I said."

"I ain't bein' dismissal. I just been focused on other things 'sides what you're yubbing 'bout in french. I don' mean t'seem rude, cobber, but I ain't got time t'be foolin' with ya."

Another sigh. "When have you ever any time to talk? You are always off on your own, being lonely. Do you mean to isolate yourself, tireur d'élite? I do NOT think that it's healthy. I already question your sanity and this prolonged-"

"Do not start with me. I like me pri'vsy 'n I like bein' left 'lone. What I do with myself is me own damn business an' I ain't takin' to you gripin' over it. Why's it even mattah t'ya anyway? Puttin' that long nose where ya' shouldn't."

"You act as though you have something to hide." A small grin slipped across Spy's face as he blew out a cloud of smoke. Sniper merely shook his head and lifted his scope once more to glare at the horizon. It was then that the other parts to their group finally arrived and began to group up around the two of them. With that, the silence was broken.

"Sniper," began Miss Pauling, "What are the outside defenses looking like?"

"Uh... That's the troublin' part. There ain't none. They must be pretty confident on the inside. Crikey, we could walk right in." Miss Pauling swallowed heavily before clasping her hands together and trying a brave face.

"Well, the plan goes as we discussed. Split into your groups and move out. I'll be behind Sniper and Pyro to see this device myself. Let's move, men."

* * *

The corridors were grey... winding...and quiet... Deadly silent. In every place that they'd suspected a sentry or guard to be, there was nothing. A very sick feeling began to swell inside Spy and it took most of his will to suppress it. If something was indeed wrong, he needed to be ready. They rounded the final corridor and stopped... There was the main-chamber... and there was no one in sight...

Each of the RED mercs slowly peeked from their entrances like spooked animals at the scent of a predator. They glanced about room and were even more unsettled when they found no one. Spy slowly slipped into the room, pistol drawn and spine rigid. The others fallowed, all mimicking the posture. The worst part was that, in the middle of the room, lay not a reactor, but... a metal halo. a strange circular conflagration of wires and tubing flowing with a bright cyan energy. It burst around the machine at an incredible speed, bathing the entire room in its glow. All nine men stood before the incredible machine with expressions of awe. THIS wasn't sort of reactor that they had ever seen.

"Is... Is this it?" Spy questioned, expression twisted in disbelief. Miss Pauling stepped forward, letting her shot-gun fall to her side limply.

"I... Engineer, what do you say?" The Texan cleared his throat, adjusted his hard-hat, and pulled out a small device from the pocket of his overalls. He opened up a little radar atop the PDA and moved it over the area around the monstrous device. A few high pitched beeps from it and the Engineer was left scratching his head.

"Uhh... I don't think it's a reactor... it's giving off radiation, but it looks to be coming from something else... not... not this... In fact, it ain't even givin' off its own energy signature... Whatever this is, it's powering itself and it isn't something that can be melted down. What I'm seein' here is... My God..."

"What...?"

Engineer raised the goggles from his face and glared with bright, wild eyes. "They took an old theory and actually brought it to life... They... They broke the entanglement field..." Everyone else looked at the man with confusion and lopsided faces. Before anyone could ask, he found words to explain. "The entanglement field was something people speculated to be a shuttle world between dimensions. For a long time, it was said to be a myth. But, now... Now they've not only found it... But they've broken through it... This isn't a reactor... This is a portal... A mass teleport based on our current theory of teleportation, but on a scale so large that it can leak between different planes. Could you imagine what they could do with it?" He looked directly at Miss Pauling, face a mixture of concern and excitement. Nothing he'd ever seen had ever been so amazing. As much as she hated killing his enthusiasm, Miss Pauling sighed and raised her gun.

"Yes... So we have to destroy it. You know what you have to do."

"Hold on, Miss Pauling," Spy broke in, approaching the platform before the device. "Can you not see that there is something very wrong here? A device with all the power that he has just explained in a totally unguarded room? This isn't right. Do NOT touch anything. It is a trap as sure as the dawn." Engineer stopped in front of the panel, looking down at the controls. There were a great many screens about the console monitoring a number of different functions. They were all webbed models of the machine itself with the mathematics associated displayed on the sides along with the axis co-ordinates. From there, he could see that the device was already calibrated to a location beyond the field.

"They've used it before," said the Texan. Spy turned to face him, raising a brow.

"Where did they go?" There was a slight chuckle from the man and a sudden realization broke clean across Spy's face. It sounded nothing like the man he was familiar with and was laced with the very same venom he himself used.

"The same place you are going." With those words, southern accent abandoned, the 'apparition' slammed a fist into one of the controls too fast for anyone to react in time. From the circular platform around the portal, a transparent dome enclosed it, locking the RED spy inside. The entire other team went to rush the man, but was stopped when the ground began to quiver and the halo began to erupt with bright light and a spectacular show of energy all across its center. In hardly any time at all, the portal was active and they could all only watch as the field began to rumble and pull at their trapped team-mate. Spy fell to the platform and snatched for anything to grab onto, to tether himself, but it was bare and slick. All he could do was claw fruitlessly at the floor.

"Aidez-moi! Do some-zing!" In panic, all of Spy's composure was gone, eyes flashing wildly in surprise and the most emotion he'd show in days. Miss Pauling took the gun and aimed it at the BLU Spy's head as he slowly abandoned his disguise.

"TURN IT OFF NOW!" She screamed over the quaking mechanics of the portal, her voice cracking in panic. The BLU Spy merely smiled and put up his hands.

"I am afraid I don't know how, madame." Miss Pauling's eyes shot back up to the dome around the portal and and pack to the BLU at her feet. His eyes were stone cold... Intent... Satisfied... This was what they wanted... It was the trap... And she let it happen... One of the mercs was about to be jettisoned into the unknown... and she let it happen... Spy could have very well been about to die... And she was letting it happen... She was frozen... watching the Frenchman's face as he skidded along the platform, closer and closer to the portal, face becoming more wracked with fear with each passing second... She'd never seen that expression on his face before... On any of their faces... And she wasn't doing anything... She couldn't even twitch a finger... Blink an eye.. She was helpless... and letting it happen. The ground shook more and more and the yelling of panicked voices grew as the rest of the team tried what they could to stop it... None of it worked...

And in a second... With a final glance at her with steel-blue eyes, Spy was gone... whipped up and vanished... The energy spiraled out of control, parts of the machine breaking off and flying into different directions. They smashed against the dome, against itself... The shaking grew and grew... everything threatened to give way... and it did... with a single shock-wave, the machine collapsed into itself... and all went still... Nothing of it... or spy... was left...

* * *

Every single muscle inside him ached like fire... Horrible... horrible... fire... His eyes refused to open... his lungs screamed for air but the very thing they needed chocked them. Every part of him was struggling to function... Then... in an instant, he took a deep breath... He twitched his fingers... He tried to push himself upright and fell back onto his knees. Things began to register and he took another whiff of the air... It was putrid... His nose instinctively wrinkled at it.

Finally... He opened his eyes... All he could see... was dilapidation... Destruction... and a world he didn't recognize... but somehow... it seemed familiar.


	2. Chapter 2

The air smelled foul like corpses left rotting in the midday sun and it tasted horrid has he took shallow breaths. Around him was... a shell... a skeleton of something that once was but was clearly no longer, though it held an air of familiarity about it. The metal frame of whatever this place once was was rusted over and gave way to a morning sky high above, lightly glazed over with the thinnest layer of cloud. Spy slowly stood, knees aching and cracking for reasons he had yet to understand. Below him was lain a large, circular platform long since void of an odd finish that was vaguely resistant. Turning slightly around, his eyes befell a wooden structure built in place of a wall that must have once been there. The wood was shabby and poorly slapped together as though the builder hadn't either any skill or any time. A ginger stride brought the Frenchman before a large frame that broke through the threshold between he and the outside, but shortly before crossing it, he stopped... Another look around... Great metal catwalks sprawled along the metal, skeletal dome above, meeting from sides to join in a plus above his head where cables hung down nearly in his reach... three junctions in the metal walkways stopped abrupt where the wooden structure began... A deep sickness tore across spy's stomach and he soon felt very feint. He braced a palm against the wooden frame and took shallow breaths. He knew where he was... But... what had happened to it? The Frenchman struggled to remember the events before he awoke and grunted with distress over how it all brought up more questions than answers. The portal couldn't melt down, but the base was in shambles. Spy breathed another hardened gasp of the foul air and broke out into the birthing sunlight.

Nothing outside had honestly changed. The Badlands were badlands. The dirt was red, the sun was hot, the morning was humid. It was all as he remembered it, though he knew the horrible, rotting stench was an exception. Silver eyes grazed along the hills. The tallest flat before him curved up onto the slope and then along a dirt path into the town by a mile or two. It shouldn't have been a very grueling trek. He could manage. With a head still locked in a minor tail-spin, Spy grudgingly began to traverse the steep incline up to the flat, though everything still hurt with the most intense soreness he'd ever had. It brought him back to his days of training with the Republic's academy. His first day among the leaders of European espionage was one he felt for a good many weeks after he initially started the course. Physical fitness was one of the most important things a spy could possess and the academy made sure to implant that concept on everyone, especially a scrawny little twelve-year-old as he had been. Now, all his woes from those times were coming back with venom and he loathed to encourage them with more work. All the while, a little voice in his hind brain was barking fiercely some warning beyond his comprehension; primarily because he was no yet coherent enough to acknowledge it. He knew it was there, but, for one reason or another, couldn't bring himself to act upon it. It was something akin to sleep paralysis which rendered his body on an autopilot while his mind was forced to sit back and "enjoy the ride."

Occasionally, his eyes would dart around as they were suppose to by some miracle of self control, but they saw nothing but the badlands in all directions. Once atop the plateau, he managed a glance across the valley which held the rattled base and only so in a splay of wind-kicked dirt and growing blue sky. Still... That voice inside him persisted. It got louder and louder the more he walked, the longer he traversed the open desert away from the BLU fortress and, yet, he was in no control. The rolling nausea inside his head kept him from regaining control, from listening; all the while sending him off into parts familiar and parts unknown. He couldn't understand, but he desperately wanted to. This autopilot drove him on... and on... The sun moving slightly every time he bothered to notice... Nothing and no one in sight. He was a lone man wandering, baking in the terrible heat. The jacket... He needed to get it off... It was quite literally killing him. A thought broke across his mind... Would his body listen? The haze was growing and his stomach churned violently, but... slowly, a hand reached across and pulled at his right sleeve. It came loose with a little persuasion, as did the left arm, and the jacket fell away with a numb thump. His legs teetered and he looked back wearily. There were things in his pockets. He needed them. Another desperate thought dared override the autopilot and Spy turned full around to pick up the discarded coat. From the right pocket, he took his butterfly knife, his cigarette case, and his sapper. The Cigarette case and knife fit in each of his pant pockets rather well, albeit snugly, but the sapper had to be carried by its wires. The loose grip slung it along as the autopilot took control again and his stomach made another sickening writhe.

He couldn't control it this time. Shakily, the Frenchman fell forward onto his knees, sapper hitting the ground with a shattering clank. His stomach wretched and convulsed, leaving the bitter taste of his last meal and the putrid air that still assaulted him. He dared gasp after and sucked in another disgusting mouthful of it which brought him to curl again in a fit of dry, burning heaves. He couldn't move. Even after the vomiting had gone, he was stuck, kneeling on the ground like a statue, mind twisting and body shivering, even in the heat. He'd never felt anything like it. He wanted it to end... In his clouded state of mind, lying down and simply letting go seemed the best option... With the thought nailed into his being, he tossed over to the side, limply, and let his muscles twitch and shiver relentlessly, pain rolling up inside him like a filed of mines all going off at once. His body was a brutal war zone... his mind a losing battle... Black began to fringe on his sight, turning the already blurry mess into nothing... sleep... silence... all save for that little voice inside his head which continued to scream...

* * *

 **"This is out of bounds and you knew it! You knew it and you did it anyway! What you did to him... You better hope you can fix it or the administrator is gonna-"**

 **"She is going to do what, exactly? I was simply following the instructions of my employer who is, as far as I am aware, of higher importance than her. I am very positive Blutarch Mann could easily bypass any problems the administrator has with our tactics." It pained her to realize it... But the spy was right. If Blutarch Mann called for such a thing to be done, there would, yes, be a great many things he'd have to go through and most surely want to avoid, but, in all, he was above it. Both brothers usually stuck to strict guidelines and only deviated slightly out of frustration to preserve what each other had, but... what they did to the RED spy... The more professional part of her brain tried to reason that it was a risk of being a mercenary and that spy knew it well, but... She couldn't help but not listen to that part... and they knew that... They knew that she felt sympathy for the mercs... All of them... even the more annoying or disgusting ones...**

 **"You did it for a reason... What is it? What do you want?" The smile that split the BLU spy's features made her insides burn with rage.**

 **"Well, knowing that Redmond Mann would never sign over his share over the life of a single mercenary, or anything for that matter, I give this ultimatum to you, Miss Pauling. You are familiar with the reactant used to power that prototype machine, correct? Well, there is more of it. We know there is. We want you to find all of it and turn it over to BLU."**

 **"And what about the RED Spy?"**

 **"Hmm... Well, Madame, that is a very tricky operation. You see, we have sent him to another... world, we'll call it. Most likely, he won't stay put if sent somewhere inhabitable and opening the portal again to allow him to come back is not exactly a guarantee of his return.** **C'est compliqué. Time is of the essence. If you wish to have him back, I suggest moving quickly to gather what we asked for."**

 **"So..." Sniper broke in, arms crossed and body ridged. "You sent our spy t'some unknown hellhole without knowin' where it was 'er if yer able t'get him back just on the whim that you could use the minor hope that he's alive as leverage?"**

 **"Simply put, but correct, nonetheless. Though, you would like your comrade back, yes?"**

 **"I'unno. Would be right happy without 'im, honestly." Miss Pauling gave an exasperated sign, eyeing the bushman pointedly which made him step back and roll his eyes. "I'm guessin' we'd need 'im, though," he growled with a scratch of his chest.**

 **"Yes. Of course you would. Now, let us talk business."**

* * *

Cold... He was cold... Cold all over to the point of shivering, but unlike before. There wasn't a backdrop of heat or glaring of sun high overhead. There was a darkness to this cold, a tinge just lain atop of him. Still, though, his body remained out of his control. His mind was still clouded... His body still wretched... Just as soon as he'd woken up, he drifted back into the abyss...

Again... He woke up again and noticed more... There was no dirt below him... There was something solid and... industrial smelling. A twitch of his fingers was all he could manage. The surface was smooth. The shadows sunk in again...

A third time he awoke. His cheek slid across the smooth, industrial surface and his eyes forced themselves open. At first, there was just darkness, but they adjusted well to it. Blurry shapes were all around him, all wrapped in a feverish haze. He could make out a wall. A grey wall just before him, close enough that he could reach out and touch it had he the strength. Deep breathes echoed against the emptiness. There was a shuffle far to his right and his ears peaked to the sound of a voice... An unfamiliar voice. The hairs on spy's neck stood on end, his back going ridged, his body making itself stiff. It was starting to react properly, but not well enough to defend him. He was as vulnerable as a child.

"Can you hear me?" asked the voice. Spy froze, palms pressed firmly on the floor, with his head turned slightly towards the sound. "Kinda, huh? Hrm... Nasty bite'a rads you got, pal. Never seen'm so bad and had the person live... Well... Aside from ghouls..." Spy couldn't make heads or tails of what the man was talking about. His figure was a burly one on the edge of his vision and the voice, though deeper and much more mature, reminded him of scout. Perhaps it was the accent. "Still, I ain't one for givin' pity, even to the tough ones. I'm not sure if you can hear me or if your head can wrap itself around what I'm sayin', but I'm sayin' it anyway. You behave and we won't have any problems for the duration of your stay, alright?" Spy didn't try to respond. Soon enough, the shuffling began again and faded out of his range of hearing... It was torture. Every sound was... Painful, chilling torture. It made him heave again... Then... the darkness took him once more...

A fourth time... A stronger time... He could move his arms, see almost clearly, think coherently... He grasped his hands into tight fists, took in the looks of the room around him, let his thoughts race as fast as they wanted to and never lost his train of thought. He was in a cell; a dilapidated one, at that. The bars, once a strong metal, were rusted. The walls, once strong, were crumbling. Everything was washed over with whatever light shone in through tiny holes in the ceiling... Daylight... Still daylight... Or... Perhaps, daylight again... There was no telling how long whatever sickness had gripped him had kept him under. Spy could think this, now, and he could ask questions and he could worry, and panic on the inside. The fact that he COULD think these thoughts was almost soothing if not for his current state... His current place... He sat upright... slowly... His breathing was controlled, his muscles fought to keep the shaking in check. As the gradual movements became more daring, the fighting became an intense grapple for power of mind over matter. Thankfully, this time, mind won over and Spy managed to stand and move of his own whim. His first target of attention was the window against the back wall. He was just tall enough to peer over the sill and see out... The scene rattled his mind, again, with questions upon questions...

He was in TueFort...

Well... A different kind of TueFort... sand and deep red dirt and blown about and built up over many of the sparse buildings within the town itself, trapping everything with it. Some areas were cleared out by obvious use, but most of it was as though the town had been left abandoned for years... Like something out of a horror novel... Something out of a bad dream. Spy dropped down from the sill, mind racing off the rails, now. It was a mass of confusion and more of the panic he tried so hard to contain. What had the machine done? Why was he here? What happened to TueFort? What happened to everything else? How much of an influence had it had on other things? So many questions... No answers... Just dead ends... Those made it worse. Those made his heart nearly burst from his chest. Something was wrong here. VERY wrong. Something was wrong with HIM.

"Well, look who's up. Took you long 'nuff." That voice... the same voice from before. Spy darted around to see another man just behind the bars of his cell. His face was mostly covered by a large, black cap and goggles, but the lower half sported a rather thick, brown beard. His body itself was very spry under the workings of leather harnesses and denim jeans and popped out in many places around the arms, shoulders, and chest. Scars lined said areas, as well. Everything about the man spoke one word: Snake. "You gotta name or...?" Silence was the only reply. "Huh... Playin' that game, eh? Not the first time I've had to break a few fingers, but I'm game. Try to make this easy on yourself, will you? I wanna know a few things... Like... All this stuff you had on you. Some really weird stuff, yeah? Beautiful, pristine butterfly knife, for example. Can't say I'm a stranger to the things, but one in such good condition? That's odd. That mask, too... Can't believe I forgot to take that, too. Maybe I was a little caught up in other things. That little box you had, maybe... zapped one of my boys good while he was playing with it. Almost killed him. Kinda electric mine or somethin'?" More silence accompanied by a thick scowl on Spy's behalf.

'Talkative and an échec at interrogation. Just my luck,' Spy moaned inwardly. The babbling continued, on and off about this and that, all things that spy would not or could not answer to. The man was wearing something down and it wasn't Spy's resolve. "Pour l'amour de Dieu," he mumbled after a while longer of listening to the man talk about cigarettes. "Suis-je mettre fin à cette torture moi-même?"

There was a sudden halt. "Ah... French..." The shock of it caused spy to reel back momentarily. It was so sudden... Words were said under his breath and the man understood them? Or, at the very least, could tell what language they were from? "Vous ne parlez que français?" ...And... he could speak it... Last time Spy checked, he was one of the only two men within a three-hundred mile radius of TueFort that could speak French. Let it be his luck that whatever was going on seemed to want to hinder him in any way possible. "Mmm... I think you speak English... Choosin' to be stubborn is all. Just gotta break the... 'mold.' Now, THAT is a pretty nasty process... Anything to say before I go and get my toy-box?"

Spy snorted gruffly. "Are you always this charming towards your playmates or am I special?"

There was a thick belly laugh from the man and a smile so crooked and nasty that Spy almost started heaving again."From what I've seen, I think you are."


	3. Chapter 3

_"We're approaching the redlands." A large window lay before a man dressed in rather stuffy marine wares and spanned out across a land locked in the savage mid-day heat. Red dirt kicked up in minor storms across the empty wastes like hurricanes. The dirigible, however, was unaffected and meandered along at its usual cruise speed._

 _"Sound the usual warnings and keep on a steady coarse towards the signal. Have the readings returned?" The voice was deep and smooth, a sound to give men chills and send waves along the world to which he spoke indirectly. A woman to his left looked up to him, face a contortion of frustration, confusion, and and exhaustion and removed an aged headset._

 _"No, sir, but we'll keep scanning," she breathed feverishly. The man before her sighed and fought with himself to keep from pinching his forehead._

 _"Yes. Carry on." A dismissive wave of his hand and he retreated to the upper deck, leaving the crew to continue their restless duties._

* * *

His wrists burned. He'd been wriggling his hands between the ropes that bound them for over half an hour, resulting in only minor bleeding. In hind sight, it was probably one of his worst ideas, but desperality could force even he into such a situation. He'd put up quite a fight when they removed him from the cell, but a cloud still hung over his mind that hindered his body's functionality. There was some sort of grogginess to his muscles and an ache in his head that threatened to, even still, make him vomit. The ringleader of the little band of bandits- as they appeared to be- had said something about 'rads.' Spy's mind automatically shot back to engineer's, or rather the BLU Spy's, observation of the portal.

It was leaking radiation...

Spy had never had any symptoms of exposure to radiation- amazingly after all the years he'd spent working for RED and fighting BLU with their many stockpiles of explosives and god-knows what else- but he had some notion of its effects after seeing the aftermath of the war in Europe and Japan. Hiroshima and Nagasaki wouldn't be livable for decades and those close enough to the detonations had died of cancer in passing months and years. The slower deaths or lesser cases of the sickness were recorded to involve vomiting, nausea severe fatigue and a number of other symptoms which were much worse. Spy had quite a few of them, but he wouldn't make a personal diagnosis for now.

The room around him was very similar to the other areas of the building- dilapidated and mismatched as though someone had tried to piece it back together with parts of anything they found lying about such as cars, fuel tanks, crates, and scaffolding. This room in particular was mostly solid with half of a wall taken out and replaced with wooden two-by-fours and tin roofing. It let in small shafts of fleeing sunlight to illuminate the dirt-coated floor and small stains of various substances that he'd rather not have identified. A gust of wind kicked in through the doorway as a figure entered, right had weighed down by a rotting, wooden box. A few small things peeked out from the uncovered trough and Spy's nose twitched nervously. A Spy was always prepared for the possibility of violent interrogation, but that didn't mean he was ready for it. Still, he had to endure it, even if it meant death.

"So, Frenchie, you think on your situation? Wanna talk or do I really have to go through this? Common, pal. I'd rather not get my hands dirty today." The man's body language told a different story. His hands twitched and his eyes leaked with anticipation and a sick, twisted hope. He wanted this... He desperately wanted this. Torture from a dutiful agent was one thing... torture from a sociopath who craved pain? That was almost akin to slaughter; a nightmare come true. Spy was in for a long, brutal few hours. He sat silent in response to the questions, face like stone and just as emotionless. "Hrm... You gonna regret that, pal. Sometimes I can get a little carried away... Not very fun for you. First, though..." A huge, calloused hand gripped hard onto the ball of Spy's head, snagging on the slick fabric of his balaclava in an attempt to remove it.

Instinctively, the Frenchman jerked back, twisting his head so that the cloth became taught and more difficult to remove. The man stopped mid-action and cocked an eye-brow. "You hiding something under there? You some kinda ghoul or you got scars? Pal, it don't matter. Imma make it worse, either way. Keeping that mask on ain't saving you shit. " Spy glared sideways at him like a rabid beast, teeth barred and prepared to clamp down on flesh if necessary. The man ignored the visual warning and pulled out and downward, flicking the mask off with one fluid motion. The Frenchman pulled back into the shadow of the room, letting only his eyes remain visible upon his silhouette in the fading sunlight. The brute scoffed and reached into the box of tools and pulled out a flat-faced mallet. It was purposefully dulled out to create a broader surface for striking.

The man balanced the end of the tool on his left palm, holding the handle in his right, before dropping the head to his side and holding it to his right side. He cocked back slightly, obviously holding back from using his full force, then slung the mallet into the side of Spy's jaw. The impact sent a shock of white across his eyes and a moment of dull, nothingness before the result of the impact began to register and the pain sunk through the adrenaline. He almost cried out when he released the breath he'd been holding. All his muscles went stiff in an attempt to regain a hold on reality. "Alright," the other began. " Let's get started. Where are you from? You're real clean. You have rather clean clothes, clean hair, a pretty clean face, and rare weapons in near pristine pre-war condition. Are you from a vault?"

Nothing but shallow breathes escaped Spy's lips. The brute sighed and gripped the mallet harder as he crouched down. Without any warning, he cocked back and quickly slammed down the handle onto Spy's left foot, the base of the upper bone collapsing with the force. There was no containing it this time. He let out a suffocated yelp, mouth slamming shut in retaliation to grind his teeth. The pain was sharp, broken bone sifting through his skin and prodding his nerves as well as a burning ache atop his skin. The handle ground down on the foot for another minute before being removed when the brute stood.

"You must really have something to hide. Don't want me to hurt your family? Your friends? Find something you don't want people to find? Is it worth this much pain to protect?"

Spy slowly lifted his head, steel eyes burning through the growing darkness. "It... isn't a matter of protection... It's a matter of having nothing to tell... I don't even know how I got here... Where I am... What happened here... I know nothing... But if you insist on exhausting yourself to realize that, I cannot stop you..." Another scoff resonated in the near empty room.

"What's that saying? If you do what you love, you'll never work a day in your life? Pal, I would do this until the sky fell down if you'd live long enough. Even if you got nothing to tell, Imma do it anyway."

He was that kind of psycho... Schadenfreude... It was going to be a long night. Still, he'd dealt with this kind of man before. "And lose the opportunity to torture one who would scream more?"

"Oh, I'll make you scream. I make them all scream... And beg and cry and bleed like a stuck pig. You think you're some tough son of a bitch?"

"Well, a man trained his entire life in the art of espionage and resisting torture while also having been tortured multiple times in his life is bound to be more resistant to it than others."

"Pal, I've broken mutes."

'He's more stubborn than I am.' Spy was ripped from his thoughts as another shock wave of pain jolted through his body. The butt of the mallet dug back into his foot, grinding the already shattered bones. Spy bit his lip, cringing slightly through the darkness that masked him. When the pain finally subsided, he bore through the shadows with a stare of daggers. Though he swore silence, the remark that escaped his mouth was almost involuntary. "When this is all done, I'll be sure to break every single one of your toes as slowly as possible."

"When this is all done, you're gonna be dead." The remark was so nonchalant, the practiced tone of a true sociopath. "But not until I've gotten what I want out of ya'. Espionage you say? You a spy then? Spy for the Brotherhood? That wouldn't surprise me. They've had their eyes on this place for a while. Not sure why... Or maybe you work for the Spectrum... or... God help you, if you work for Sigaul..."

"And what, pray tell, is so horrible about 'Sigaul'?"

"Are you cross-examining me, Frenchie? You do work for Sigaul, don't ya'? Tryin' t'figure out what we got on him. I knew ya' looked like his type'a grunt! Talkin's over! Imma use ya'. YOU are gonna send Sigaul a lovely, intestine-wrapped message! Imma bust your face up so good that YOU won't even recognize you!" Spy wasn't given a second to prepare as the hammer was slammed hard into his temple. His vision flashed white and fading back in, eyes rolling in an attempt to re-focus. He felt a trickle of liquid seeping from his nose and left ear under the impact zone. The brute wasn't hitting with his full strength, but terrible damage was being done. There had to be a crack in his skull. Spy knew it.

The man wound up for another swing, muscles tensing and veins popping... but he stopped mid-swing as another leather-clad individual rushed into the room. All of his face was covered by a helmet and a bandanna. "We have guests!" he blurted.

"Guests?"

"It's the brotherhood."

"The brotherhood..." the larger of the two turned back to spy, mouth contorting into another one of his grins. "The brotherhood..." he repeated. "Maybe I was wrong about you. They here for you? Your buddies coming to rescue you?" He turned to the other man. "What's it looking like?"

"They have a blimp in the air with verdibirds and multiple ground units in power armor searching the town. They're close." The smile dropped.

"A bli- They brought that behemoth? Here?! Change the contingency plan. We're leaving now!"

"leaving? What's it matter if they have a blimp?"

"It's not just a blimp, dick-for-brains, it's the Prydwen! If that's here, God only knows what else they've hauled with them. I'll give you a history lesson on the way out, but move!"

"What about him?" They both stopped and looked back at spy who stared lazily back through the darkness. The larger man walked back towards him, circling around to the back of the chair. From behind him, Spy could hear shuffling before a sharp pain pricked into his wrist and warm liquid began to drip over his fingers. He knew what it was... What their plan was. He walked back around and pulled the other man through the door, his last audible words leaving his lips with callous.

"Let Maxson find his corpse."


	4. Chapter 4

_AN!~ So, I've been on hiatus for a WHILE, taking a REAL LONG break to do school stuff and hobby stuff and relationship stuff; you know, all that fun jazz. I'm pretty glad I did as I feel VERY refreshed AND got to see the TF comic 6's release. It's a good thing this fic was an AU from the start or I would have to rethink just about everything in my original plan. Not really sure which side I lean to when thinking of the comic, though. It's a vivid love-hate relationship. Anyway, here's the next installment of Spy's adventures through the wastes._

* * *

The flow was growing faster, more and more of his blood gushing from the open wound and pooling under him on the floor. After mere moments, he was feeling light-headed. Within the hour, he could be dead or near enough to it to not be worth saving. Spy looked around the room frantically, hoping to enact some sort of plan before he lost his ability to produce coherent thoughts. The walls were barren and the room was-

'The tool box!' Spy remembered and hastily looked to the last place he'd seen it. The box was still set off to his left. Within, he could see a number of saws and screw-drivers, any of which being a possible way out. The Frenchman straitened and pressed his right toe to his left heel. He pried off his left dress shoe and kicked it off to the side. He then extended his leg towards the wooden box. His still sore muscles strained and his joints popped uncomfortably as his socked-foot inched closer and closer to the box. Then, suddenly, the bolts that held the rear legs of the chair to the floor loosened slight causing the chair to tip forward some. Spy gasped, catching himself in a moment of near panic before realizing what had happened. He retracted his leg and looked back, seeing that he was, indeed, suspended delicately by the rusted bolts in the concrete below. He almost smiled. There was an easier way. Spy leaned back so that the bolts settled back into their holes, taking a deep breath and tensing his muscles and then, as quickly and as forcefully as he could, the Frenchman threw himself forward. The bolts caught him again, but he noted that he was suspended forward more than previously. He leaned back again and repeated the previous process. This time, the bolts gave way and Spy fell forward onto the floor, making sure to turn his head so that he landed on the side that wasn't bashed in.

Still suffering some degree of pain, Spy managed to get his knees under him and balance the back of the chair on his shoulder blades. With it in that position, he shuffled towards the wall and pressed the legs to it, taking a deep breath. Quickly and as forcefully as he could manage, the mercenary cocked back and slammed the chair into the wall. It caused the wood to give-way and splinter into loose shards that he easily dropped. Once free from the chair, spy found that there was snow slack in the ropes and slid his blood-soaked hands free. Hastily, he pulled up the sleeves of his white dress-shirt. He looked at his right wrist. Across it, there was a deep cut, the flesh around it soaked red and bruised purple as though the blade had been drawn through it slowly. The cut looked less than an inch deep, but blood spurted from it like the wound dug all the way through to the other side. It was bad... And he didn't know how to fix it. Spy took a deep breath, grabbing his wrist with his left hand and squeezing the flesh tightly in a trained vice. He released the breath and slowly drew another, eyes closed and mind ever focused on slowing his heart-beat. The slower the heart beat, the slower the blood would flow. He knew that much and knew he'd need to depend on it to keep himself alive.

In an instant of recollection, Spy risked releasing his wound for but a moment to grab his discarded balaclava from off the floor. The slick mask was placed back onto his head and a level of security warmed him. It was like returning a blanket to a small child in the wake of a nightmare, save for the fact that Spy's nightmare awoke with him and was far from over. Putting the pressure back onto his wrist and continuing his controlled breathing, the mercenary hobbled to the door, bouncing lopsidedly on his broken foot which ached even more then than it had been upon infliction. The hallway outside the torture room was empty of all life. The walls were dark and of the same concrete and half-hearted wood-work that many of the other rooms consisted of. Little light shone from anywhere save for an oil-lantern at the far end of the hall. In spite of that fact, Spy could see relatively well. Light broke through small pin-pricks in the ceiling from a sun continuing its waking day as though all were right with the world. The Frenchman continued his slow journey across the building until reaching the end of the hall and sitting for but a moment upon the crate with the oil-lamp. He looked hazily at the dimming fire, his eyes nearly crossing in the dizziness that he had just began to notice. The little plume of oranges and yellows flowed like an odd sort of water, flickering at the dog-end of a fuse that was starved for fuel. His wound all but forgotten, Spy watched its performance like an actor over-accentuating his movements, but doing so in a way that hypnotized onlookers with their fluidity.

With each passing moment, the little dancer within the lamp grew smaller and smaller, hissing quietly and bowing upon performance's end, vanishing completely. The bur in Spy's vision had grown incredibly, but everything seemed to numb. His pains were gone, his sickness was forgotten. In that moment, all he wanted was sleep. A part of him knew what was happening- he was passing out from either trauma or blood loss- but he couldn't muster the will to care. He released his slipping vice on his wrist and only watched the spot where the dwindling puff of flame had been. His metal-gray eyes did not twitch. They did not move. They simply watched the lamp with the naive notion that he could, some how, coax the light to life again. Then he shook himself. Some part of his still-working brain took control and Spy's hold on his wrist re-locked itself. He stood from the crate and finally turned away from the empty lamp. To the left of the hall he'd just exited, there was another hall that lead towards a door. Light burst from the frame around it and that told Spy that it might lead outside. The Frenchman shuffled towards it, the pain in his foot becoming real again with each staggering step.

With one cross of his feet, the spy fell to his hands and knees.

 _"I can't do it. I will not! Not anymore!"_ The concrete below him became canvas, bending down with his weight. Through his gloves, he could feel each fiber pressing tightly against his finger-tips. The voice was quiet, shattering meekly as it demanded authority he couldn't dream of having. More pressure before him said that there was someone in front of him, but when he looked up, there was only a gray, blurry mess. Lack of physical being didn't stop the voice.

 _"Yes, you can 'n you will! I seen you take on boys twice yer size, cobber. How am I any different? Gerr-up! To yer feet!"_ This voice was deep, gravely. This voice WAS authority and needed little to nothing to get it. The indent in the ring was deep, telling spy that the man before him was big, brutish and heavy... And he was slow. The boy got up from the canvas of the ring and stared the man before him in the eyes. He was muscular beyond belief, skin a spiced tan and hair a deep brown. Upon his face was a mustache that bent down below his chin and up to meet his side-burns. His chest was clothed by a white-muscle shirt and lower body by thin, black track pants. The rest of the room was only a sunny smudge on the edge of his vision. The only things he could see were the ring and the man. The Australian raised his fists and beckoned him to approach. Spy stared for a moment, taking it in before swallowing a breath. The man swung and spy ducked around the massive arm, slipping out behind him and planting and decisive blow on the arch of his back. The larger man froze for but a moment before straitening and turning around to meet the eyes of the boy. _"Thas'it, mate! Yer smaller 'n weaker 'n the rest'a 'em. Stop fumin' over bein' stronger and focus on bein' smarter, faster, quieter. You take heavy steps, you see. You got yer father's curse, but we can fix that. Does you think'a big man like me could be's quiet as a mouse?"_ Spy shook his head. _"Well, lemme show you wrong, cobber."_ The man began to walk from one side of the ring to the other, his feet taking slow, deliberate steps that shook the canvas near to none and made not a single sound. When he reached the other side, he looked back as spy. _"Now, do as I jus' did."_

The Frenchman nodded, looking down at his feet as he tried to mimic the steps of his instructor. One foot was put before the other, crossing over the first with a slight stumble. He stopped and looked up, seeing nothing but a blank face on the other. He looked back down and continued to walk, stepping gingerly and precisely, the canvas being below him and shaking him, but he did not fall. He took those quiet steps, putting his pressure down only a little before lifting the other foot and placing it forward. The steps became easier and quicker, drawing him closer to the other man, his goal. He made each step as soft and as quiet as he'd seen the other. It still felt heavy, but it was better and would get better still. He walked and walked until his arm reached out and grabbed the rope on the other side of the ring. Within his hand, the rope began to harden, straitening before what he held was no longer a rope. He held a metal door-handle. Before him was not another man or the outside of a boxing ring, but was a metal door, cold and industrial. Spy looked behind him and saw only the hallway he'd been traversing, a trail of blood in his wake. His mind came back to him and he looked down at his wrist which was still oozing blood. His right hand turned the nob and shoved out into the light beyond the threshold. It blinded him at first, causing his eyes to squint in the blur and intensity.

The blur didn't fade, but his eyes began to adjust in the light and he found that it was not, in fact, the sun. From what he could gather, it was a set of what look like flood-lights placed around the door. The room around them wasn't visible to him, but he supposed it was a rather large one. He began to hobble passed the lights and leaned against one of them momentarily while he caught he fleeing breath. The support stand for the lights were loose, but solid enough for his liking. Beyond them was darkness that he assumed he'd adjust to and he pushed off. The darkness swallowed him whole in mere seconds. He saw nothing and felts only the concrete under him for what felt like hours. Then, the shadows began to lose their grip, giving way to patches of light that Spy could only grasp at with his eyes. The light did not illuminate the room for him, but it gave him some comfort knowing that there was but a single layer between him and the outside world. It was then that Spy realized how thirsty he was. He licked his lips and felt the sticky, dusty film of skin upon them. His tongue was nearly the same, producing nearly no moisture. His throat attempted to swallow what little his mouth could produce, but only constricted around suffocating air. The sensation made him cough harshly and stumble to the floor once again. The Frenchman was able to right himself immediately and carry on. He didn't make it far.

A burst of light blinded him suddenly, sending him to the floor in near panic. The light was harsh with a yellow-ish tint to it. It focused on him and swayed vaguely from side to side. This light was unlike the rhythmic sway of the fire he'd so avidly watched. It was shaky, clumsy and accompanied by a heavy thrashing upon the concrete floor. The light drew very near much too quickly for spy's liking and the Frenchman entered a 'fight or flight' mode that sent him in an attempt to scuttle backwards towards the flood-lights. A vice gripped his left leg and drug him across the floor back towards the light. The grip was cold and solid like metal.

"Don't move!" The voice was male and american, by its accent. There was but a figure before spy, one he could not focus on for the life of him. He tried to shield his eyes from the light, but this proves ineffective as the blur was much too strong in his vision. "Who are you?" The question didn't register to him. He only continued to look up at the light and figure without thought or sound. He didn't know what to think. "Well?" More silence as two more lights joined with the first. More darkness began to enclose them, however, and Spy felt the same desire to sleep rise inside him with a vengeance. He couldn't ignore it this time and simply let himself slip under, falling back upon the concrete, heedless to his condition. The canvas was back, pressing against him. A voice in the distance was commanding him to get up, screaming for him to try harder... But, unlike in his memories, he didn't. He simply laid there and watched the world spin around in its own time. His final recollection of thought broke clean across his mind.

" _Why get up?_ "


End file.
